


A Beginner's Guide to Blackmail

by TeratoMarty



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - High School, Anal Sex, Blackmail, Dubious Consent, M/M, Nullo, Oral Sex, Really bad oral sex, Small Penis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-15
Updated: 2019-04-29
Packaged: 2019-10-28 18:03:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17792156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeratoMarty/pseuds/TeratoMarty
Summary: No-pants WWE in a high school AU





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [deadscoutz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/deadscoutz/gifts).



> This-all takes place in an alternate universe where Spy has never even met Scout's ma. For the sake of argument, this is RED Scout and BLU Spy, anyway. Scout/Spy shippers have had a hard time since Valve retconned Spy as Scout's dad; some of us were in the fandom before that, and we have needs. If you're out looking for incest, you'll have to look elsewhere.

Scout was totally straight, okay? Girls made him hard. Tits? Big fan. Threesome porn, one guy with two chicks crawling all over him, that was where it was at. Scout was gonna be that guy someday. So he’d clicked on a link where it was the two guys plowing one girl. That was fine. The one guy was a real stud. Scout had no way of knowing that most of his stuff was just guy-on-guy. He definitely didn’t intend to keep watching it, but damn that dude could lay pipe. He came, watching the guy just slam the other guy like it was no-pants WWE. 

He wasn’t done, though, even though the playlist was. With the inexhaustible verve of youth, he searched for more porn.

“Extreme sex hard pound,” he told the search bar. It delivered, providing dudes in leather and rubber and masks… ooh. He clicked on one masked man, then another. Something about how the dudes in masks just took it, on their knees, on their backs, on all fours, yeah, it- holy shit.

Dropping his cock, he rewound to where the guy in the mask was looking back over his shoulder, in three-quarter view from behind. Scout knew that profile. He had been vaguely awake in biology class, he knew it was possible for there to be two noses like that in the world, but with that forehead, that pointy chin? He’d swear he saw that profile every week, Tuesdays and Thursdays, last period. He rewound further to see the bony ass before it was eclipsed by the dude with the huge cock. He wasn’t sure, he’d only ever seen his French teacher’s butt with pants on, but it was definitely narrow like that. He let the video play, watched the huge dude plow the masked man, and came like a fountain when the guy on the bottom gave an agonised cry. It was. It was Monsieur Scylla, no doubt. He’d screamed exactly like that in class once. He’d told Scout to throw his can of Bonk away, but Scout had accidentally on purpose bobbled it and spilled it all down his teacher’s suit. Man, he was stuck-up about his suits. Not so stuck up with it off, huh, he reflected as he mopped himself off with a sock and passed out.

Scout saved the video to his phone the next day, and pored over it before class. He was sure, but how could he be sure he was sure? Between the mask and those hot little leather gloves, he could hardly see any part of the guy in the video that would show in a normal suit, and vice versa. He kept a close eye on that ass while Monsieur Scylla did something to verbs on the chalkboard. 

Scout hung around after class. This wasn’t unusual, but for once it wasn’t because he had a quiz marked “2/10, see me.” He slouched, smirking, by the French flag as he waited for the last of his classmates to file out, then clicked the door locked.

“Puis-je vous aider, Scout?” Monsieur Scylla hadn’t been thrilled that Scout had chosen “Scout” for his French name, even though it was right there in the book. He made up for it by saying it “Skwut.”

“Yeah, I think we can quit with the French, pal.”

Scylla’s nose was well-made for looking down, and he had a lot of practise. “Dans ma salle de classe, ons parle français.”

“Except it’s not your classroom any more. This says it’s mine.”

“Un écran de verrouillage de Pikachu?”

“Damn, shit, wait-” Scout unlocked his phone and turned it back to show Monsieur Scylla a screenshot of himself, jaw slack and eyes rolled back in his head.

“I knew it!” Scout crowed. “Your teeth are still exactly as fucked up as they used to be.”

You’re a fine one to talk, Scylla thought, but said nothing. “What do you want?” he asked wearily. “If you intend blackmail, I have some sad news for you about the salary of a public school teacher.”

“I don’t want your money. I just want some’a what you’re giving that guy.”

“Gave, prétérit.” Scylla let the automatic impulses of pedagogy take over as he examined his options. None of them were good, but he would be damned if he couldn’t play this game better than un enfant such as Scout. “Very well, but make it quick. I have much to do.”

“Don’t think you can- wait, what? Really?” The hope in Scout’s voice was as obvious as the tent in his pants.

“I am not in the habit of making idle suggestions, despite your approach to the homework I assign.” Scylla took a deep breath and leaned back against his desk with every appearance of seductive ease. “Fuck me.”

“Yezwebutzh?” Scout’s body was, as usual, quicker off the blocks than his brain, and he was tugging at Scylla’s waistband and yanking on his tie before he managed to formulate a coherent thought.

“Allow me.” Scylla rolled his eyes as he put his tie out of harm’s way.

“Wow, you ain’t hardly let yourself go at all.” Scout caressed his teacher’s lean stomach on his way to haul down his pants. “Nice.” He paused to stroke the silk boxer briefs, then tugged them down- “HOLY Mary mother’a God, where’s your dick?!”

“Gone,” Scylla said calmly. “One of several reasons my career in pornography is over. Have you changed your mind?” Madre de dieu, he needed a cigarette. He hoped this would be over soon.

“No, man, I can work with this.” Disappointed but relieved, Scout shoved his teacher back onto the desk. Scylla tried not to wince as Scout dove face-first into his crotch. “Yeah, yeah, you like that?”

Scout’s technique reminded Scylla of a dog who’d found an empty baked bean tin. He moaned a somewhat sarcastic encouragement. “Fuck me, now.”

“Awyeah,” Scout yanked his shorts down to reveal the smallest erection that Scylla, with all his years of experience, had ever seen. He stifled a sigh of resignation and produced a condom like a magician turning up the king of hearts.

“It is for your own good.” Scylla rolled the condom over Scout’s cock with a deft caress. From the way the boy’s eyes crossed at that simple touch, this wouldn’t take long. He spat thickly into his hand as he turned to lean on the desk, and used it to ready himself.

Scout had to bite his tongue for a long moment in order to keep from busting a nut from just the sight of stuck up Monsieur Scylla bent over his desk. Bent over his desk, because he’d made him! He grabbed his teacher’s bony hips and rammed his dick home.

At least he was enthusiastic, Scylla mused. It had been too long since he had enjoyed a good, bone-rattling fuck. Surely there must be some happy medium between being blackmailed into constant prostitution and remaining celibate until cobwebs grew over his ass. He glanced at the clock above the chalkboard. Forty seconds, so far.

“Ohmygodohmygodohmygod-” Probably wouldn’t make it a full minute.

When Scout shoved Scylla down onto the desk, an erratic thrust hit just right. Scylla moaned, soft but genuine. Scout came, biting down on Scylla’s shoulder so hard that the fabric of his suit squeaked. His cock slid out, leaving the condom behind in Scylla’s ass and spurting sticky jizz all down the older man’s thigh. Sagging to his knees, eyes rolled back in his head, Scout let his cheek rest against Scylla’s bony butt. “That was… that was incredible.”

“Mais oui,” Scylla murmured, turning on the charm even as he extracted the condom from his ass. “Please, you must promise me something.”

“Anything,” Scout breathed, staggering to his feet. Good, a promising sign.

“You must tell no-one about this. Not even a hint, no matter how you yearn to boast.”

“Whuh?”

While Scylla knew better than to trust anyone who said “I love you” after sex, he’d found that post-coital instructions could carry the weight of post-hypnotic suggestion. “Tell no-one,” he repeated. “What we have just done is criminal, and if discovered, I will take the blame. I would be fired, arrested, imprisoned.” As if he wouldn’t be halfway to Venezuela. “If I am in jail,” he stroked Scout’s cheek, “we could never do this again.”

Gold help Scout if he ever tried to play poker, Scylla reflected. “We can do this again?” As if Scout wouldn’t have blackmailed him for an encore every day of the week. 

“Only if we are never caught.” Monsieur Scylla tucked his shirt back in and smoothed the line of his suit. “Je vais organiser un rendez-vous sécurisé, mon cher.”

“Say what?”

“Don’t call me, I’ll call you.”

He’ll call me, Scout thought as he headed home, walking on air.


	2. Solo: Scylla

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No man can escape his past. Damn and blast PornHub.

Basile Scylla locked his door behind him and fought the urge to lean on it. He should have known better. No man could escape his past. Damn and blast PornHub.

In the first seconds after his student had confronted him, he had rifled through his escape plans- tourist flight to Mexico, new identity, boat to Venezuela, new identity again, unless he couldn’t safely get to his stash of cash, in which case, hop a freight train to Canada, new identity, job as a waiter, rob the till, plane ticket to Russia, new identity, settle down as a beet farmer. When the boy had tried to blackmail him, though, he had a glimmer of hope. If he could steer the interaction so that it was in the idiot’s best interests to keep his secret, he might not have to uproot his life yet again. Not right now, anyway, he thought, as he poured himself a measure of cognac, though he should certainly top up the stash of Euros in the hollow cinderblock behind the bulletin board.

How had it come to this? He savoured a moment of self-pity along with the bouquet of the brandy. He used to lead a life of excitement and intrigue, of which appearing in pornography was merely the most legal source of income. Now? Prostituting himself to keep a public school job and a third-story walk-up flat. He stepped out onto the balcony and lit a cigarette. Still, he had a balcony, from which he could see the sun set.

The worst part of it, the utter fond du merde? That moment of rough handling, the instant when the boy’s ridiculous cock had grazed his prostate… God help him, but it had aroused him.

How long had it been since he had had sex? He could barely remember. How long since he had pleasured himself? A month, at least. He had once blazed a scarlet trail across Europe, had half a dozen lovers of various genders pining for his withheld favours even as he gave himself like an alley cat to anyone who caught his eye. And now, how the mighty have fallen. One high school student, old enough to be a college student- at least if he were physically capable of sitting down and shutting up- was the only man to look at him twice since the start of the school year. 

He needed to get out more. 

Not tonight, though, he decided, stubbing out his cigarette. If he went out now, the reek of loneliness and desperation surrounding him like Axe body spray would foul his chances for months. He needed to take care of himself, undo the neglect that had led him to this low place.

He started by drawing himself a bath. This flat’s full-size claw foot bathtub had been another of its selling points, and he used it all too infrequently. He undressed as the bath ran, carefully hanging his suit in the bedroom away from the wilting steam. When the bath was full, he poured in some Huile de la Nuit and sank into the steaming water. Ah, what bliss.

Smoothing the oiled water over his skin, Scylla let his mind wander. It wouldn’t be too hard to find someone who was content with blowjobs. He trailed a hand through his hair, dampening the curls before tugging on it sharply. Head lolling back over the lip of the tub, he imagined a thick cock just inches from his lips, its masked owner stroking it just out of range of his tongue. Ah, yes- so long since he had smelled the hot musk of a man preparing to fuck his mouth. Would his notional lover want a slow start, caresses of lips and tongue, or would he want to plunge in, ramming his hard cock right down Scylla’s throat? Mother of God, that sounded good. He rolled a nipple between thumb and forefinger before tugging at the barbell piercing.

Hooking his knees over the sides of the tub, Scylla let his head roll back further. He was in chains, legs spread wide, throat open, helpless to resist the prowling, shadowy figures who wanted to use him. Yes- he rubbed his thighs together under the surface of the water. 

Relaxed and supple from his bath, Scylla stood and towelled off. He thought about what he wanted. There was a certain box in the top drawer of his dresser- need he go that far? He toyed with the idea before deciding- why am I asking? Have I forgotten who I am? If I want to, then I must.

After spreading a fresh towel on the bed, Scylla opened the drawer, the box. Fresh talcum powder before, silicone polish after. In the vanity mirror, the black latex mask transformed him from an individual to an idea- anonymity, secrecy, desire. He zipped the mouth shut, and he was no longer a person, just a body, struggling to breathe.

One more thing would make the sensation complete- he lifted a thick rubber collar out of the box and buckled it tightly around his throat. It squeezed his neck perfectly, like strong hands around his throat. Dizzy with pleasure and mild oxygen deprivation, he lay down. 

The linen sheets were cool under his heated skin, the edges of the bed seeming to recede from him as his head spun. He slid one hand over the side toward the nightstand and retrieved a pair of black latex gloves- simple disposable ones, this time. He wet them with silicone lubricant and stroked each limb, his whole body, until he could bear it no longer. Panting inside his mask, he selected a dildo from the nightstand.

It was black- of course- long, thick, heavy in his hand. Spreading his legs wide, he slicked the dildo and stroked the blunt tip against his hole. Toying with his nipple piercing with his free hand, he savoured the anticipation.

Without preparation, without stretching, he plunged the toy into himself. It ached, it burned, so much so that he dug his fingers into his chest and cried out. His breath hissed raggedly through the zipper teeth of his mask as he struggled to accept the intrusion. Oui, mais oui, he moaned. Heat and chills flashed over his skin, and his eyes rolled back in his head.

Oh, mon Dieu, it had been to long, he thought as he finally started to relax around the dildo. The ache eased into a sort of pleasure, moved deeper inside. He rocked his hips. Yes- there- the spot was so difficult to reach from this angle, but he wouldn’t be able to get any leverage if he rolled onto his stomach. Spreading his legs wider still, he attacked himself. His pulse hammered as he slammed the dildo deep inside, head spinning with oxygen deprivation. When he tilted his head backward, he felt the heavy rubber collar bite into his neck.

Yes- yes, yes, yes! His whole body shook as prostatic fluid gushed out of him. He writhed, waves of pleasure rippling over him. He imagined strong hands holding him down, spreading him open, thick cocks shoving into every hole, filling him with semen before withdrawing for more to take their place. 

Finally, as if cast onshore by the receding waves of orgasm, Scylla unzipped the mouth of his mask and took a deep breath. He felt boneless, languorous, utterly relaxed as he groped for his cigarettes and lighter. A good deep dicking was clearly all that was best in life. 

He wondered briefly if he could get Scout to wear a strap-on, and nearly choked on his cigarette.


End file.
